


The Last to Fall

by bashermvran



Category: MorMor - Fandom, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Blood and Violence, Explicit Language, Gun Violence, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Sex, Western AU, mormor, old west au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 15:35:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3983464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bashermvran/pseuds/bashermvran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a land beyond law, the most dangerous are the last to fall.  </p><p>Sebastian Moran is one of the most wanted men in the wild west. He believes he has the crazed region figured out, but then he meets a strange, but dangerous man, who threatens to be even more dangerous and untamed than he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last to Fall

He wakes to the cacophony of a storm of bullets raining down on his camp. Instinct acts before his mind does, and Sebastian is behind his pile of firewood, using it as a feeble means of cover. It won’t last, but the ex-colonel is already cocking his Smith and Wesson Model 3, and aiming it at the heads of the pathetic men who made the fatal error of attacking him. He pulls the trigger and one of them decorates the faded grass behind him with flecks of blood and brain. The remaining three shout at each other to take cover, but not before another one of them collapses as a bullet makes itself comfortable in his eye socket. 

            The second one decides it’s a wise choice to charge Sebastian, gun blazing as he does. He doesn’t even manage to graze Sebastian before a bullet is planted squarely between his eyes. He can almost hear the final one’s teeth chattering in fear as he walks toward him. Upon getting closer, his attacker fires his gun wildly; continuing to pull the trigger after the chamber has been emptied. The _click, click_ of the gun is in tandem with Sebastian’s footsteps, before the latter presses his gun to his attacker’s forehead. Before he can beg for his life, his brain and blood are spattered across the ground behind him.        

            Sebastian exhales shortly as he puts his Smith and Wesson away in its holster, kneeling down to loot the dead man of whatever ammunition or food or valuables he may have. He is congratulating himself on the successful and productive start to his day before he finds a brand on the final attacker that makes him pause. He’s taking his money from his pocket, when he finds an “M” branded onto the man’s hip. Upon further inspection, he finds the same brand on all four of them, in addition to one of them having a crumpled up wanted poster in his pocket: Sebastian’s wanted poster, which promises a reward of two thousand dollars, dead or alive. He curses under his breath, as he stands upright, biting the inside of his cheek as he looks at the scrawl at the corner of the poster.

 

_Don’t care if he’s dead or alive. Just bring him to me._

_You know the consequences for failure._

_-M_

            “Already got that covered, asshole,” he mutters. “Fuckin’ bounty hunters.” They never fail to give him a headache. Though, despite traveling through various parts of the west for several years now, he’s never heard of this “M.” He’s sure he’s robbed and killed and cheated plenty of people with that initial, though.

            Knowing there’s not much he can do about it now, he sits next to the blanket he uses for a bed and has a breakfast of apples and corn bread, the last of his rations. Sebastian marks the town of Calico on his map before he dresses, fastening his belt with extra ammunition and a knife as he puts his cowboy hat on. The hat has been put through the ringer, torn and frayed with some dirt and bloodstains that refuse to come out, but Sebastian refuses to buy another. Call him superstitious or sentimental, but it’s his lucky hat. He’s always come out of the worst of scrapes with that damned hat. So he’s keeping it.

            The pocket watch that belonged to his father tells him that it’s nearly eight, so he gathers the last of his feeble belongings before he mounts his horse. She whinnies as he settles into her saddle and Sebastian shushes her, stroking her ebony hair.

            “C’mon, Raven,” he says before he takes her reins and snaps them. She starts forward, beginning with a slow trot before he urges her into a gallop and the two of them are quickly darting past the Southern California scenery. On top of Raven, Sebastian can almost forget about this morning’s attack and the enigmatic M that wants him, dead or alive. On top of Raven, he feels near invincible as the wind whips his coat behind him like that of flapping wings, trying to hard to take flight and leave the dull anchor of the ground. On top of Raven, he finally can believe that he’s Sebastian fuckin’ Moran, one of the most feared and dangerous outlaws from California to Wyoming and beyond.

            After only stopping a few times to give Raven a chance to drink and rest a moment, the pair arrive at Calico before nightfall. The sun’s fading light stretches over the mining town, making the dirt and grime stains on the miners even more pronounced as they ambled on home or to their favorite saloon. Lanterns blossom with flames outside of shops still open and saloons getting ready for a long night, their shadows flickering across the dirt scarred with footprints. The usual drunken slurs and too-loud laughs come from the saloon as Sebastian ties Raven down next to an inn, where he charms the woman running the counter into giving him a room at a discount. He scoffs as she’s left blushing while he sets his things down in his room. The room is small and dirty, but at least he’ll have a bed for the night and a door he can lock, should anymore of M’s men decide to pay him a visit.

            It’s only seven and his face is dirty enough that people won’t be able to recognize him from the wanted posters unless they get a close enough look, which will promptly earn them his knife leaving a rather uncomfortable wound in their heart. Using this reasoning, he decides to visit the saloon next to his inn and have a whiskey. Or six.

            Knowing that the only people who wear cowboy hats in saloons after dark are outlaws or asking for trouble, Sebastian keeps it slung over his back as he pushes through the squeaky doors of the saloon. Some men glance at him, but most of them are too caught up in their booze to pay any attention to the stranger that looks so dirty, he could have just come from the mines like they did. Sebastian keeps his gaze ahead as he makes his way to the polished bar at the far end of the establishment, taking a seat at the far end and ordering himself some Tarantula Juice. The overhanging lanterns illuminate the endless whiskey stains on the wood counter and some man laughs too hard and knocks his beer over, the amber liquid spilling onto a woman’s dress, who in turn, shrieks as if she was shot. The laughing man is quickly given a swift punch to the face for soiling the pretty missus’ dress and a small squabble ensues before the group is quickly ushered out. Sebastian shakes his head lightly as he drinks his poison, about to comment to the woman on his left about moronic miners before another man slides into the seat between them.

            Sebastian regards him as he orders himself a fancy cocktail, earning odd looks from everyone within earshot. Their looks tell Sebastian that he’s clearly a foreigner, like himself, but, unlike himself, this man is moronic enough to order a fancy drink surrounded by people who have no idea who he is. Such recklessness and such portrayal of one’s reputation in a town where no one knows you is a guarantee of taking a dirt nap for the foreseeable future. He’s about to move so he doesn’t get blood on his shirt before the man looks at him. His dark, near black eyes root Sebastian to his seat and leave him transfixed.

            “Mind if I borrow a match?” he asks, an accent weaving through his voice, one Sebastian recognizes as Irish quickly. 

            He silently takes his matches out from his pocket and offers one to the pale stranger. The latter takes it and strikes it, urging a small flame from the tip, which he uses to light his makeshift cigarette. Sebastian’s blue eyes never waver from the stranger.

            “You’re not from here,” the stranger says. A statement, not a question.

            “Nope,” Sebastian says, running his thumb along the cool glass of his whiskey, beads of condensation sticking to his finger. “Reckon you’re not either. ‘specially since you’re drinkin’ that.” He points at the drink in question, as if it had committed some abhorrent sin just by existing.

            “I enjoy cocktails,” the stranger says with an odd smile that Sebastian can’t read.

            “I hope you enjoy gettin’ your head bashed in too, judging by the way the bar dog is talkin’ to those guys.”

            The stranger doesn’t even spare them a glance. “They don’t scare me.”

            Sebastian shrugs and looks forward, not quite sure what to think of the man. He’s handsome, sure, and Sebastian’s never been one to turn down a man or a woman that showed interest in him, but this is beyond interest, somehow. It’s more than a man looking for a quick fuck. It’s like a predator sniffing out the blood of its next snack. But Sebastian will be damned if he goes comes across as a wounded pup.

            “What’s your name?” the stranger asks, smoothing back some strands of hair that came loose from his otherwise perfect black cut. Sebastian honestly has no idea what he’s doing; with those eyes and pale skin and rather small stature, he looks a tad feminine, and when that’s combined with casually strolling into a new town to order a prissy drink, you’re nearly promised to be called a raging sodomite and hanged at high-noon the next day.

            “Jack Bell,” he says.

            The stranger smiles and extends his hand. “Levi Kane.”

            Irish indeed.

            Sebastian shakes Levi’s hand before he realizes the mistake he just made. Now everyone at the saloon has seen him associate himself with Levi. If they decide to confront him about that damned drink, Sebastian is sure to be dragged in as well.

            Before he can come up with a way to worm his way out of the situation, Levi pulls him from his thoughts when he asks, “I have a question to ask you, Mr. Bell.”

            “Jack. And shoot.”

            “I’m making my way to Goldfield, Nevada, but such a journey is dangerous to take alone for someone like me,” he says, clearing his throat pointedly. Sebastian raises an eyebrow.

            “And?” But he already knows what he’s going to ask.

            “I think it would be best for me to have an escort.”

            “You want me to hold your hand all the way to Nevada.”

            “More like: shoot any bandits or thieves that come scuttling our way,” Levi says pleasantly.

            “It’s out of my way.” That’s a lie. He has no destination in mind.

            “I’ll pay you, of course.”

            There you go.

            “How much?” Sebastian asks.

            “How does one thousand dollars sound?”

            It sounds like the easiest thousand dollars he’ll make just by traveling. Sebastian looks at Levi; really looks at him, and can easily tell that the man is capable of producing such funds. His clothes are that of what a big gun would wear, clean and tailored to his slim figure. Sebastian can make a gun out in his coat, so he’s not completely helpless, and he can see the gold chain of a pocket watch shimmer against the dark fabric of his vest.

            “It sounds just right.”

            Levi smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Good. We’ll leave at dawn.”

            He pays for his drink and stands, slipping his way through the crowd and out the door before Sebastian fully registers that he is gone. The blond shakes his head and runs his hand through his short, messy hair before he orders another whiskey. His hand scratches against the stubble coating his cheeks, bald only where his scar runs from his jawline to his cheekbone, as he wonders what the hell he just signed himself up for.

 

~

 

            As the first rays of the sun stretch and yawn over the mountaintops, Sebastian is already securing Raven’s saddlebags with fresh supplies. He turns as Levi approaches him, and Sebastian muses that he looks even more handsome in proper lighting. Reins are gripped tightly in his hand as he guides a horse with grey hair next to him, splotches of white spattered all over the horse’s hair as if he is a watercolor painting come to life.

            “This is Grimm,” Levi says.

            “Fantastic. This is Raven.”

            But Levi isn’t listening anymore as he mounts Grimm, posture and movements measured and solemn, like that of a nobleman taking his award-winning horse around the family estate to shoot some rabbits and geese and boast about it later. His distaste for the man heightens as he mounts Raven, leading Levi out of town without another word. He’s spent more than he’d care to admit being forced to be one of those damned noblemen, being forced to listen mindless, moronic chatter about how _fantastic_ it was to own a car like they have in New York City. Or how _amazing_ it was to be able to stick your nose up at anyone who had a scuff on his or her collars and then give them a coin to make yourself feel like a good person. His father tried desperately to smother him with that lifestyle, where your bark is ten times the size of your bite. Sebastian has made both equally terrifying to any man or woman that crosses him. And yet, he suspects that this Irishman can smile and charm easily enough, reeling you into the dark void of his eyes with promises of partnerships and good fortune, before he turns into a venomous snake. But, by the time you realize who the snake is, you’ve already been bitten.

            Sebastian scribbles all of this down in the leather-bound journal he keeps in his pocket. The leather is faded and coated with dirt and grime, as are the yellowing pages, but he continues to fill them with his ink-smudged thoughts and muses. His favorite escapades fill these pages, from his bout with Kali’s Kitten to his biggest heist of successfully robbing a locomotive, all covered and masked with metaphors and analogies aplenty. And he’s the only one that knows what they truly mean.

            “Are you done scribbling in your diary yet?” Levi asks impatiently. Grimm and Raven have finished taking a drink from the creek they stopped to rest at, and Levi is leaning against Grimm’s side, arms crossed across his slender chest as his dark eyes radiate annoyance. Sebastian makes a show of finishing his last sentence before he closes his journal with a _snap_.

            “S’not a diary,” Sebastian says shortly as he tucks the journal into his coat. He knows he’s biting into Levi’s bait, but he can’t find the effort to give a damn.

            “Must be a sex journal then,” the Irishman says as he gets onto Grimm as if he is weightless. Sebastian fights back the urge to grab him and hurl him into a tree to find out. “You looked excited enough when you were writing in it, _Jack_.”

            “Yeah, you have me all figured out,” he says flatly. Levi just hums and urges Grimm forward, Sebastian following after him with Raven. Once again, he isn’t sure what to make of the Irishman.

            They continue riding northeast until dark purple begins to bruise through the clear skies, stars bleeding through the bruises as the sun retreats into sleep. Sebastian finds them a clearing under some trees, keeping them out of the sharp eye of bandits and bounty hunters. He helps breathe fire into the kindling Levi gathered, whispering the flames to life until they stretch and reach as if they’re trying to reach the bleeding stars. The pair sits in silence as they eat the rabbit Sebastian killed earlier, Levi having withdrawn behind walls made of steel and iron. A stark and a rather unnerving contrast to the Levi that was flirting and pestering him for hours.

            “What part of Ireland are you from?” Sebastian asks in a vain attempt to get him to poke out from behind those walls.

            Levi shoots him a wary and suspicious glance, seeming to weigh whether or not answering will give away some vital piece of himself.

            “Dublin,” he says after a moment.

            “I’m from—”

            “Save it. I know.”

            “You know.”

            Levi levels him with his dark eyes, and bright blue threatens to be sucked into a black hole. Some vague part of him that doesn’t feel like it’s been found by its predatory thinks that his eyes look like the night sky.

            “I know everything about you.”

            He looks back at the fire, and his eyes all but devour the flickering flames into their endless abyss. Sebastian loves a challenge, so he pokes more.

            “How?”

            “I read it on you, plain as day,” Levi says tersely. “From that wretched hat to the way you always reach for your gun whenever you hear a twig snap, without even thinking about it.”

            Sebastian finds his dislike for Levi fading away with the embers disappearing into a sky that eats them up. To the average eye, Levi is just a simple, wealthy foreigner that orders cocktails and chats up other strangers. But Sebastian has caught a glimpse of the brilliance underneath the shallow ruse, and with that brilliance comes a darkness that is all too clear in his eyes. It’s quite possible Levi isn’t his real name, but Sebastian is in no place to judge. He’s sure that monsters hide behind those walls, but he wants to get inside of them anyway. Call him an adrenaline junkie, call him a glutton for punishment, or call him an idiot.

            “D’you want me to set up your tent?” Sebastian asks as he finishes the last of his rabbit.

            “No.”

            “It gets to freezing pretty quickly.”

            “I said no.”

            Sebastian shrugs and goes inside of his pathetic little tent. He glances back out at Levi as he extinguishes the fire after a few more minutes, watching the small shadow find his blanket and curl up underneath them. Seeing Levi staring up at the night sky, he can tell why he’d prefer to sleep under the stars. It’s as if he’s staring at a home he cannot return to, rather than a place that has baffled mankind for centuries.

 

~

 

            Their travels are uneventful for the next few days. Sebastian continually prods Levi for glimpses into his life and his self, but Levi is steadfast in keeping him blocked out. Though, that only makes Sebastian even more intrigued and determined to get to know this brilliant stranger.

            The two are following the railroad tracks; intent on finding a locomotive headed for Nevada to avoid travel over the mountains on horseback. They find the perfect locomotive in question at the station in Baker, a rather well kept new station to help with the increased travel of both passenger and cargo into and out of California. Said locomotive is stationary at the station as several crewmen work to load bundles of cargo into the various cars. They’ve put their focus at the front cars, the ones at the end already being locked and loaded, but Sebastian has no trouble picking said lock and ushering Raven and Grimm and Levi onto it. He hops inside and closes the door, leaving the only light filtering into the car coming from the narrow windows at the top as he latches it shut. They’re lucky enough to have some space, and the car is stocked with clothes, so they’ll be set for the night.

            Sebastian feeds the horses each an apple to keep them complacent before he sits against the wall as the train begins its journey to the station in Tecopa to restock on enough coal to make it to Death Valley. He’s hoping they can stick with the train until they’re through the damned valley, but chances are slim they’ll go that long without being discovered.

            Levi stays with Grimm for a while, but as nightfall breaks over them, he moves to sit next to Sebastian and the small lantern he lit in front of him. He crosses his arms against the cold settling into the car and Sebastian silently drapes a blanket over him, to which the Irishman greedily latches on to.

            Taking his seat again, Sebastian asks, “Why d’you want to go to Goldfield?” Levi is silent, to which Sebastian sighs shortly, before he says, “We’re going to be spending the next week together, at least. I’ll leave you abandoned in this damned train if you plan to ignore me for the rest of it.”

            Levi shoots him a look, but still, he says, “Business.”

            “What kind of business?”

            “I have a client to meet with who wants some consulting.”

            He falls silent again, and Sebastian shakes his head lightly before he takes his journal out. His pen is nearly to the paper before Levi says, “I want to read it.”

            “You said s’just a boring sex journal,” Sebastian says without looking up. He is caught off guard when a pair of dark brown eyes is suddenly less than six inches from his face.

            “I want to read it,” he says again. Blue connects again with brown, but the sky will not be so easily devoured this time. Not when it comes to the journal.

            “No.”

            But the word is barely out of his mouth before Levi has snatched it from his hands and is jumping onto a crate of clothes to perch and read it, a magpie admiring its new prize. Sebastian snarls before he pounces, grabbing for his leg, but Levi jumps onto another crate to avoid him. He’s slender and quick, faster than Sebastian is, and his eyes are already flitting across his messy scrawl. Sebastian throws a boot at him before he goes back to his corner, scowling, hating the little Irishman once again. He turns off the lantern, but Levi reads with the moonlight filtering in from the outside. Sebastian dozes off to the rocking of the car and the soft sound of pages turning.

            He is jolted awake by a pair of rough hands that grab him by his shoulders and slam him into the side of the car. A fist to his jaw makes black spots dance in front of his eyes before he can grab for his gun and a meaty hand grabs his throat, cutting off his air. Sebastian gets his bearings enough to see that his attacker is one of the train’s engineers, the second one holding Levi at gunpoint.

            “’ey, get a load of this,” the engineer says to his companion, breath reeking of tobacco and whiskey. “’s the cad tha’s on those posters! The one worth two thousand dollars!”

            He gives Sebastian a grin tainted with black or missing teeth. 

            “Yer gonna make us very happy when we—”

            The engineer finds himself unable to finish his taunts as a bullet tears through his chin and skull. His hands fall away from Sebastian’s throat and the cad in question raises his gun from where he worked it free of its holster, aiming it at the other engineer. The man barely has time to register is partner is dead before Sebastian paints several crates with his blood.

            “They’ll have heard the gunshots,” Sebastian says, going to the horses to try and calm them enough to be able to ride them to safety. “We should leave before—”

            Levi grabs Sebastian’s arm and turns him to face him. The second engineer’s blood speckles his chest up to his neck, his dark hair is tousled from the struggle, and his eyes are dilated and filled with adrenaline. The sight sends heat right to Sebastian’s groin, so he doesn’t complain at all when the Irishman crashes their lips together. Levi is all hunger and teeth and tongue and Sebastian is eager to respond just as ravenously. All worries about Levi being suspicious of the poster mentioned or other crewmen finding them melt away as Sebastian drinks in Levi’s heat.

            They only stop kissing when breathing becomes necessary, and Sebastian turns his attention to his wonderful neck, sucking bruises into the pale skin before he runs his tongue along the marks. Levi exhales against Sebastian’s jawline as he gives the same attention to the scar running from his jaw to his cheekbone, shivers going through Sebastian’s spine as Levi’s devilish mouth licks and kisses along the sensitive skin.

            Sebastian’s deft fingers are quick to unbutton Levi’s ruined vest, tearing it off of him before he does the same to his button-up. He groans lightly as Levi presses his hard cock against his inner thigh, finding there to be too many maddening layers of clothing between them as he takes off the rest of Levi’s clothing. He, too, is quickly stripped, and the two stop for a moment to really look at the other. Levi’s eyes light up when they see Sebastian’s scars and he runs his hand along the four jagged scars that stretch from his collarbone across his chest and shoulder. Sebastian also looks over the scars on Levi’s arms and torso. He doesn’t have nearly as many scars as the ex-colonel does, but those that he does have make him even more beautiful.

            Levi kisses him hungrily again and Sebastian holds him by the waist as he lies down with him on the blanket he slept on, before his fingers begin to stroke Levi’s cock. He lets out a soft gasp before he groans into Sebastian’s mouth, cock already slick with pre-come. Levi’s eyes, dark with lust and adrenaline, follow Sebastian as he slides down his body, moving his mouth toward his cock and licking along it slowly. The Irishman throws his head back in a slow moan as Sebastian’s tongue continues to tease at his cock, threading his hand through golden hair and tugging his mouth closer to his throbbing prick.

Sebastian gets the message and he takes Levi’s cock into his mouth, sucking and running his tongue along the tip. Levi’s knees would be shaking if he were standing, and he is all moans and breathless sounds of pleasure as Sebastian takes him deeper into his mouth. He can’t help but cry out as Sebastian works a finger into him, raising his hips a bit as the finger works him open before another one slides in. His nerves are firing off like mad and he’s nearly over the edge before he grabs a handful of Sebastian’s hair and pulls hard, making the blond look at him, lips sinfully red and swollen.

            “Fuck me,” he commands breathlessly. Sebastian works Levi open a little bit more before he slicks up his throbbing cock as best he can. He is as careful and as gentle as he can be when sliding into Levi, and though pain initially makes white flash in front of the brunet’s eyes, it’s quickly dulled and then lost in pleasure. The rocking of the car helps Sebastian move against Levi, moaning unevenly as Levi moves with him. He takes Levi’s cock into his hand and runs his thumb along the tip as he bites and sucks along his neck and chest, loving how it makes him cry out.

A thrust from Sebastian makes him cry out again, and the blond angles himself to continue to hit the same spot, cock throbbing hard as he is brought to the edge. It takes several more feral and unrestrained thrust until the both of them come, hard. They moan incoherently into each other’s mouth, one’s pleasure blending and mixing and becoming lost in the others. They look at each other, panting heavily after Sebastian’s empties himself into him and Levi’s come lies on their chests. Sebastian doesn’t want to stop, but his muscles are shaky as he pulls out and lies down next to Levi, catching his breath.

            The two look up at the ceiling before they turn to each other, short breaths mingling with each other. Levi raises his hand and runs his thumb along Sebastian’s scar on his cheek, and Sebastian marvels at how beautiful he looks, especially after he’s been well-fucked. The blond raises his hand to brush back a strand of hair back from Levi’s sweaty forehead and they kiss, much less desperately than before. It’s not tender, not sweet, exactly, but something is there. Respect, perhaps. Maybe even an understanding, or a bond.

            “Jim,” Levi says quietly.

Sebastian frowns.

“That’s my real name. Jim.”

He relaxes and kisses him again before saying, “Sebastian.”

“I know.” Jim moves closer to him and Sebastian wraps his arms around him, holding his small frame against him tightly. They stay like that for a little while, before they help each other dress and dispose of the bodies of the engineers by chucking them out into the desert as it speeds by them. The train won’t stop again until they reach Death Valley Junction, and the two agree to get off as soon as it does.

It isn’t until dusk that they slip off the train, on their respective horses as they ride away from the smoky, raucous machine and into the silent arms of the night.

They rid in silence until they set up camp several miles away from the railroad tracks. Sebastian is starting up a fire when Jim goes to him and holds his journal out to him.

“You’re quite the writer,” Jim muses as he sits next to him. He has seemed lighter since this morning, as if Sebastian has proved something about himself and can be trusted, even just a little bit.

Sebastian thanks him by offering him half a bar of chocolate, which he takes without complaint. They don’t have to say anything more as they eat their dinner of chocolate and the last of their cornbread, content to sit together next to the fire and under the galaxy’s canvas of stars. Jim moves closer to Sebastian as it gets colder, and neither makes a comment about it as Sebastian wraps his arm around his waist, as if afraid saying something would break this fragile thing that they found. The two fall asleep against each other, the smoldering embers bleeding into the inky night.

 

~

 

Jim somehow manages to persuade Sebastian into stopping at the Junction’s general store, a small, pathetic little thing coated with dirt and run by a small man that looks as dusty as his store does. The Irishman insists that he needs a new suit since Sebastian “ruined his,” to which the blond mutters something about Jim letting himself get held at gunpoint in the first place. That earns him a punch to the gut, but he laughs anyway.

Sebastian sits in the corner of the store, waiting for Jim to finish trying on a dark blue suit and white undershirt. He glances around the store, fingers drumming along his empty gun holster absently. The storeowner took their weapons as soon as they entered. He’s not stupid, but that doesn’t mean Sebastian has to appreciate of being separated from his Smith and Wesson. He watches as the storeowner cleans some dust off of the glasses on display behind the counter, glancing toward the door as a couple enters. The woman brushes her dark hair out of her face, as she looks around the blankets for sale, the man taking off his bowler hat and running a hand through his light brown hair. He nods toward Sebastian. He nods back.

He hears a whistle from the small room in the back where Jim is changing, and makes the mistake of looking toward it.

The man strikes the side of Sebastian’s head with a heavy jar he was looking at. He falls to the ground with a pained grunt, seeing double as he reaches for the gun that isn’t there. Instead, the storeowner points his gun at him, and the woman points a small pistol at him, smiling politely as she pulls the hammer back. He feels blood drip down the side of his face as he gets onto his hands and knees. The man drives his boot into his ribcage, the flash of pain making him cry out as he falls back to the filthy ground.

“Don’t get up, Moran.”

Sebastian looks up as Jim walks toward them, hands resting in the pockets of his new suit. He smiles at him, the gesture not reaching the black voids of his eyes.

“You fuckin’ cocksucker son of a—”

 Another savage boot to his ribcage cuts him off. Jim’s smile widens and his eyes darken.

“Language. I told them not to kill you, but it would be a shame if they scarred up that pretty face anymore.”

Sebastian responds by spitting at him. The man makes a move to strike him in the face, but Jim holds up his hand and he heels. Jim kneels next to the bleeding blond.

“This isn’t personal, Moran,” Jim says. “I actually rather like you. You should feel quite lucky. My client just wants your bounty and I was going to kill you. But you proved you’re worth keeping alive during our escapades on the train.”

“Fuck you,” he snarls.

Jim’s hand lashes out, but rather than strike him, he grabs Sebastian’s chin and pulls him close, so close they could be kissing. His grip is bruising and crushing, but Sebastian refuses to let anything but anger show in his eyes. They stay like that in silence for a moment as Jim’s eyes bore into Sebastian’s, as if looking through his very being. When the brunet does speak, his voice is low, poisoned with menace and death.

“Do not make any error of judgment, _Sebastian_. You are alive because I allow it. I could have a bullet plugged into that pretty head of yours with a drop of a hat. No one would mourn you or shed a tear over you. You are alive because you don’t seem as boring as everyone else. Perhaps if you manage to get out of jail before they have you hanged, and if you realize who _you are dealing with_ , then we can have a civil conversation.”

Jim stands and Sebastian looks up at him, respect with the pernicious hint of obsession beginning to toil away at him.

“And who am I dealing with?” Sebastian asks. Jim gives him a toothy, dead smile.

“Jim Moriarty.”

Then he’s gone and the man is hauling him to his feet, binding his wrists behind his back. He’s too busy burning Jim’s name and face into his mind to really notice how the ropes dig and scrape into his wrists, nearly cutting off the blood flow to his hands. Then there is a sharp pain at the back of his head and it all goes black.

 

~

 

Consciousness comes to and leaves Sebastian like the waning tide. At some point he believes he sees a grey-haired sheriff handing the woman and the man a bundle of money with a tip of his hat. Then the blackness settles in over him again, and so does Jim’s voice, tauntingly melodic with its Irish tilt. He thinks he feels Jim’s hand running through his hair at some point and can just see his eyes through the dark blanket of unconsciousness, but then the blanket smothers him again.

When he truly comes to, he’s lying on the plank of wood used as an excuse for a bed. He blinks as he takes in his surroundings, first noticing iron bars caging him in, and then the sheriff that sits watching him from the door leading outside. Sebastian sits up and rubs his throbbing head. The sheriff shakes his head before he goes back to reading the newspaper, not noticing as Sebastian opens the note that had been placed in his boot.

_Sacramento._

_If you manage not to be hanged._

_-M_

            Sebastian hates himself for smiling.

            He tucks the note away before the sheriff looks at him and sits back down on the plank of wood. The blond looks around his prison, eyes sharp and alert. This is a test from Jim, to see if Sebastian was worth keeping alive, to see if he’s worth his time and attention. Yes, he sent bounty hunters after him, but the attempt on his life makes him all the more appealing to Sebastian. He’s not dull or predictable or bound by petty morals and some sense of right and wrong, of good and evil. Good and evil do not exist, especially not in the heart of America’s desert. There are only two different types of people: those who do no harm, and those who are the last to fall.

            So he will prove himself to Jim. He will escape this prison cell and he will introduce Jim’s face to his fist, because he is Sebastian fucking Moran, and he won’t be played, no matter how much he respects the move. And then, once the air has been cleared between them, perhaps these two violent beings who have no place, even in a world as violent as this, will find something that resembles mutual respect and a place in each other.

            It is nightfall before Sebastian has the chance to prove himself to Jim.

            The sheriff slides his dinner tray through a slot at the floor, the grimy tray holding a feeble meal of bread that had been half eaten by rats already, with a cup that held a liquid that looked like milk, but smelt like death. Sebastian doesn’t break eye contact with the sheriff as he knocks the cup over with his boot, spilling the pale drink all over the floor and onto the sheriff’s shoes. He curses and grabs Sebastian through the bars, getting a handful of his shirt and slamming him into the bars, nearly breaking Sebastian’s nose. The blond grunts and feigns wiping blood of his face with the sheet on the “bed” as the sheriff curses, cleaning up the spill.

            The sheet is around the sheriff’s neck as soon as he kneels down. Sebastian pulls as hard as he can on it, trapping the man against the bars as he chokes and flails uselessly at his hands. He has enough sense to grab his gun and begins to fire off bullets in a wild attempt to hit him. One hits Sebastian’s leg and he translates the pain into pulling harder on the sheet, the sheriff making grotesque choking sounds before he finally goes limp.  Sebastian holds the sheet there for a few moments longer before he reaches through the bars, grabbing the key ring off of the sheriff’s belt. He drops the body with a sickening _fwump_ as he unlocks his cell door. His leg is aching in earnest now, and after seeing the bullet is burrowed deep into his leg, he curses and rips off the sheriff’s sleeve. Sebastian wraps it tightly around the wound and forces himself to his feet. Putting all his weight on the leg sends shooting pain through him that nearly makes him collapse, so he hopes he can limp fast enough to steal a horse. He gets his hat and bandana and gun from the desk, putting the hat on and pulling the bandana over his nose and mouth and reloading and cocking his gun.

            He thinks he’s lucky until he hears a gasp from the doorway.

            Sebastian turns to see a woman, pale as death, staring at the body of the sheriff. Her eyes flick up to him and she manages a shrill scream before a bullet silences her. But the scream was all it took, and Sebastian hears the shouts of men and the trample of their footsteps getting closer to the jail. He won’t survive a shootout against a pissed off mob, so he slips out of the doorway and behind the corner of the building just before a hail of bullets leaves him dead.  He stays low and uses the darkness of the night to his advantage, going around the back of the jail. A man runs at him and Sebastian shoots him quickly, the noise attracting the attention of the rest of the town.

He curses and moves faster, slipping into a gap between a saloon and a general store before the mob comes around the corner. They shout promises of skinning him and feeding him to the horses before they move past him. One man, looking to be in his early twenties looks directly at Sebastian. The blond grabs him and yanks him into the gap before anyone notices, clamping his hand over his mouth as his arm holds the youth in a strangling chokehold. He sputters and struggles for a few moments before going limp and Sebastian drops him unceremoniously. The outlaw silently moves further into the gap, looking out the other side for another hiding place, but he sees his saving grace. An auburn horse stands across the street, drinking happily away at the water in the trough in front of her.

Sebastian makes a break for the horse. He goes as fast as he can without his leg simply giving up underneath him, and it seems to take forever to finally reach the animal. She seems startled at his sudden arrival, and even more upset when he unties her and mounts her. The horse’s whinny of protest draws attention and a bullet suddenly whizzes past Sebastian’s head. He knows he doesn’t even have time to look, so he just kicks the horse’s side and snaps her reins and she starts forward quickly. He has her going as fast as she can and they’re soon out of the Junction’s small town, but the galloping of horses behind him reminds him that he isn’t out of trouble yet.

Looking back, he sees four horsemen riding after him. One of them fires a shot at him and he ducks in time to avoid it. Sebastian kisses the barrel of his gun before he takes aim and fires. One of the horsemen collapses into a heap on the ground. Sebastian smirks, feeling utterly and completely alive. More shots are fired at him, but he yanks his horse’s reins, making her veer right. The new angle allows him an easier vantage point and he takes out two more horsemen.

The last one takes out a rifle and a bullet tears into Sebastian’s shoulder. The force of it knocks him off the horse and his head snaps painfully back against the ground. His horse abandons him as the final horseman advances. Sebastian presses his hand to his shoulder and slowly pulls the hammer back on his gun as the horseman smirks and raises the rifle.

Sebastian shoots him in the head before he can properly aim. The horseman falls to the ground, blood seeping out of the hole in his head slowly. The blond looks at him before he lies back, letting his heart return back to its normal rate as he stares up at the stars that wink down at him. Jim is somewhere in those stars, winking down at him. The thought makes him laugh until his throat hurts.

After a few minutes of catching his breath and appreciating the fact that he’s still alive to enjoy the sight of the stars and the prospect of finding Jim, Sebastian binds his shoulder wound with the horseman’s vest and gets to his feet. Deceased horsemen properly looted, he mounts the horse and looks at his compass. He exhales before he rides northwest; following the compass and the Polaris star, both of which point to a man that fell from the night sky. A man that Sebastian would fight hundreds of gunslingers to get to.

 

~

 

            Sacramento’s air is a blissful and welcome change to the scalding heaviness of Death Valley. Blades of grass brush against his horse’s hoofs as the animal carries Sebastian into the town. The idea of getting new clothes comes to him before he realizes he spent the last of his money getting his shoulder and leg sewn up so he wouldn’t die of blood loss or some damned infection. That would just be embarrassing after escaping a murderous mob and spending over a week traversing California’s slopes and planes to get to Sacramento, dodging bounty hunters and other undesirables along the way.

            He isn’t exactly sure where to start, so he ties the horse down and begins to search through the town for the Irishman that beckoned him. Not once does it occur to him that he’s mad for traveling, wounded and wanted, across the most treacherous parts of the state to a man who stabbed him in the back, but winked and smiled as he did. He’s avoided thinking about it, because he doesn’t want to admit how Jim has him devoted and loyal already. He sunk his fangs into his mind and now his delicious poison is making Sebastian determined to find him. To get even, perhaps. Or, more likely, to prove his worth.

            The sun is hanging high in the sky when he finally catches a break. The owner of the general store mentions a pale, dark haired man owning a building near the edge of town. He’s mentioning how he’s not quite sure what his business is, but Sebastian is already out the door and mounting the horse. He can’t get to the edge of town fast enough.

            Jim’s building is obvious against the normalcy and blandness of the other buildings. Their washed out colors look even more pallid against the jet-black paint used on the two-story building. The pale gold accents on the windows and doors give the building an elegant, but ominous look. There is no sign on the front to indicate his business, adding to the mystery of the black hole found at the edge of Sacramento.

            Sebastian takes out a cigar and lights it, the familiar practice calming his nerves some. He holds it tightly between his teeth as he goes toward the door, but it opens before he reaches it. Jim steps out, neatly dressed in a cream suit and tan waistcoat, with a bowler hat to match. Sebastian vaguely wonders what kind of a villain wears a cream suit when those dark eyes meet his again and he loses himself in them. Something flashes across Jim’s face. Something resembling approval. Then his eyes flick to the dried blood and bandages around Sebastian’s shoulder and leg, the approval turns to some kind of respect.

            It flickers away quickly enough after Sebastian punches Jim solidly against the jaw. He’s caught off guard by the blow, so Jim staggers back a bit, eyes widening in both surprise and anger. He brings his hand to rub the dark bruise blooming on his jaw as he looks at Sebastian, the latter finding himself rather out of breath. Jim smiles and lowers his hand.

            “You took your time to get here,” he says. Jim begins walking around Sebastian, and he doesn’t take his eyes off of him.

            “I should kill you,” Sebastian says around the cigar. “Collect a nice bounty.” Jim rolls his eyes and shakes his head, disappointment hanging heavy.

            “Don’t be dull, Moran. I’m just starting to like you.”

            “You’re insane.”

            “Yet here you are.”

            They look at each other in silence for a moment, two of the most lethal entities in the west, with only five inches between them. Should they go to war against each other, declaring all of America their battleground, it would be devastation. Maybe one of them would win, or maybe both of them would drown in the blood and chaos and bring the entire west down with them. But, should they go to war against everyone else, it would be a different type of destruction. A more beautiful chaos would tear through the nation, with these two outlaws at the helm, orchestrating the most devastatingly gorgeous of symphonies. The choice weighs heavily on what these two do next: a fallen star, and an outlaw willing to burn as he stays close to its brilliance.

            “We still have a trip to make,” Sebastian says.

            “To where, tiger?” Jim asks, tilting his head slightly as he looks up at him.

            “West.”

           

~

 

            The stars are one of the few constants in the ever-shifting volatility of the west. But, while one can always be guaranteed a clear window into space’s infinite spectacles when they look up in the west, the night sky in Death Valley is considered one of the most stunning views. Sebastian writes about how the stars are brighter and seem so much more plentiful over Death Valley, because maybe all of the souls that die there get trapped in the web of the night. Never making it past its inky grip, these souls burn brightly in the sky, looking down at those still bound to the dusty earth.

            Jim kisses Sebastian after he reads that in his journal. He stays standing behind him as the blond works on setting up rows of explosives on the railroad tracks, prattling on happily about the dozens of constellations that rest above them. It’s been a few months since Sebastian found Jim in Sacramento, and Sebastian smiles as he listens to his partner, hearing the scratch of his pencil against his journal’s paper as Jim draws constellations on the pages.

            “Are you almost done, Bastian?” Jim asks, looking over Sebastian’s crouched form to the red dynamite resting on the tracks.

            “Almost,” he says. Sebastian finishes connecting the fuses of the dynamite sticks to the detonator. He takes the detonator and moves it back toward their cover behind some rocks, setting it down carefully. “Done.”

            Jim sits on the blanket laid out behind the rocks and Sebastian sits next to him. The sun is beginning to tinge the night sky with a hint of light purple and orange, and Sebastian’s pocket watch tells him that the train will arrive in thirty minutes. Jim curls up next to Sebastian, the latter wrapping his arms around him.

            “D’you have your gun ready?” Sebastian asks.

            “Of course I have my gun ready,” Jim says indignantly. “I’m a professional.”

            “Of course, how did I forget.”

            “Because you’re dumb.”

            “Clearly.”

            They kiss then, and Sebastian has found that he likes Jim’s kisses the best before and after a job. They’re always filled with adrenaline and passion, but there is also always an undertone of trust and respect, because he trusts and respects Sebastian enough to join him and help him with such exciting felonies. Both of their bounties have increased dramatically since they teamed up, most posters boasting both of them together: Moriarty and Moran wanted dead or alive for twenty-five thousand dollars. Yet rarely does a bounty hunter ever pursue the two, as they have made the fates of unsuccessful bounty hunters quite clear.

            The rumbling of wheels on the railroad travels across the silence of the Valley to the two. Jim looks up and sees the train quickly approaching. He grins and Sebastian pulls his bandana over his nose and mouth. Jim takes the handle of the detonator and his eyes meet with Sebastian’s.

            “Ready?” Sebastian asks.

            Jim smiles, and responds by pushing the handle down. The explosion tears the railroad and the front of the approaching train apart, echoing endlessly into the dawn.

            The smoke clears and the two begin.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading!  
> I'm thinking about writing a second part, seeing how these two grab the west by the reins, so please let me know if you would be interested in reading some more Western!Mormor c:


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